


but i would die for you in secret

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Anal Sex, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, M/M, Oral Sex, Quentin Coldwater's Canonically Bratty Mouth, Rimming, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: They’d been dating for two and a half months. Well—dating probably wasn’t the word. But they were definitely… something. They were definitely having sex. They hadn’t actually talked about not talking about it—mostly because they were too busy not talking about it—but Eliot was pretty sure it was a secret. Even Margo didn’t know. Eliot didn’t know why he didn’t just tell her. Maybe the idea of having a torrid secret affair was just really fucking hot.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 48
Kudos: 177





	but i would die for you in secret

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just 8k of porn about Eliot being a monogamist and Quentin being an idiot. Enjoy!

Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment. 

It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...

That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.

They’d been dating for two and a half months. Well—dating probably wasn’t the word. But they were definitely… something. They were definitely having sex. They hadn’t actually talked about not talking about it—mostly because they were too busy not talking about it—but Eliot was pretty sure it was a secret. Even Margo didn’t know. Eliot didn’t know why he didn’t just tell her. Maybe the idea of having a torrid secret affair was just really fucking hot.

Eliot lay on his bed in the dark. Over the covers in nothing but his underwear, watching shadows dance against the ceiling. Moonlight making patterns on his body through the parted curtains. His heart thumped under his ribs, slow and easy. When the door creaked open, he wasn’t startled or surprised. Eliot had been expecting him. If anything, Quentin was late.

The door clicked shut. Eliot watched Quentin’s silhouette shifting in the dusky haze, crossing the distance with quick, purposeful strides and pouncing onto the bed. Straight into Eliot’s waiting arms, straddling his lap with a practiced ease. “Hey,” he mumbled against Eliot’s mouth, fumbling to shrug out of his button down.

“Hey.” Eliot licked between the seam of Quentin’s lips, hands pushing up under his t-shirt. Pale flame of his body radiant underneath Eliot’s palms. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Quentin said, mouthing along the curve of Eliot’s jaw. “Guess you’ll just have to spank me.”

Eliot choked down a snarl, his body propelled forward by pure animal instinct. He flipped Quentin over, pressing him down into the bed. “A tempting proposal,” he said, nuzzling their noses together, hand fluttering over Quentin’s belly under his shirt. “How about we get you out of these clothes first.”

Quentin whined, pressed forward, dragging his teeth over Eliot’s bottom lip before giving him a shove. “I wasn’t being serious,” he said. “Lie back down. I wanna ride you.”

Eliot hummed, ghosting his lips over Quentin’s lips. “What’s the rush, hm?” His hand skimmed over the bulge at the front of Quentin’s jeans. “You know, I’ve been told I’m quite the savant when it comes to foreplay…”

Another whine. God, Quentin was such a brat. It sparked something feral in Eliot’s brain. He sometimes thought about edging Quentin until he cried just to hear the things that might come out of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s—I’m sure you are, it’s just—” His hand against Eliot’s shoulder, pushing him away. “Come on, I—I need it really bad tonight, okay?”

Eliot didn’t see the point in arguing with that. He never did. Over the weeks and months they’d been hooking up, Eliot had accepted it would probably always be this way. Always fleeting, always hurried. As if either of them had anywhere else to be on the sleepy Brakebills campus in the middle of the night. But if this was how Quentin was going to allow Eliot to have him, well—

Eliot shoved his boxers off and kicked them away, lay there watching Quentin in the hazy wash of moonlight as he stripped himself out of his clothes. Eliot pinned an orb of enchanted light high above their heads. It watched like a flickering red-gold eye from the ceiling. Quentin’s body danced with flame as he crawled back onto the bed, his thighs straddling Eliot’s hips. He was totally focused, hardly meeting Eliot’s gaze as he muttered the prep spell Eliot had taught him to do on himself.

Quentin took Eliot’s cock in his hand, lining their bodies up without prelude. Eliot could feel the strange magic taking hold where they were coming together. The way it danced in all the hidden corners of Quentin’s body. Quentin gasped, smiled. Sinking down and—

_Fuck._

Everything in Eliot’s body went fuzzy. Tunnel vision, watching Quentin’s eyes slide shut. The way he drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he started to move. Eliot’s hands curved around Quentin’s clever little hips, allowing his body to be used. Allowing Quentin to take his pleasure. Shattered little moans tumbling out of his throat, reverberating in Eliot’s body like shockwaves. Quentin’s cock dripped down onto Eliot’s belly as he drove himself deeper. Taking Eliot all the way to the bottom.

It was so goddamn good, Eliot could hardly believe it. Just to get to see him this way. With his eyes screwed shut and his body teetering on the edge of orgasm. Eliot knew he only had a minute or two. He savored every second like sugar melting on his tongue. Deafening rush of blood in his ears. The heat of Quentin’s body like the most beautiful day of summer. Thick curtain of his hair falling into Quentin’s eyes, obscuring his pleasure-wrecked face as he started to lose control. And then—

It was over. Just like it always was. 

Quentin’s cock spurted all over Eliot’s belly, up to his chest. Faltering rhythm of his hips as he fucked himself straight through to the aftershocks. It was only then that Eliot let himself go, at the sight of Quentin’s pretty mouth quirking up, his hands slipping in the mess he’d made all over Eliot’s chest. Little stutter-stop motion of his hips as he pulled Eliot to his completion. Eliot came, and for a moment it was agony, his body suffused with heat and searing pleasure. And then everything dissolved. _I would give you anything,_ Eliot thought in his blissed-out haze. Spending himself in Quentin’s heat until he had nothing left to give.

Eliot slipped from the heaven that was Quentin’s sated body. Quentin collapsed at Eliot’s side. Comma of his body curving inward for one perfect, silent instant. His face buried in Eliot’s chest, a little sigh slipping free from his mouth and into the fiery light. Everything was soft and easy. Quentin tipped his gaze upward, brushed the hair out of his eyes.

“Hey,” Quentin said. Eliot knew what was coming next, his heart sinking like a pebble all the way to the bottom. “I should, um—” He was already pulling away, doing a quick little clean-up spell to rid Eliot’s chest of the mess he’d left. “I should go.”

Quentin stumbled to his feet. His wild hair, the blush sweeping over his face. He glowed like an ember in the magic light. Eliot sat up and reached for him.

“Q…” Eliot offered a soft little smile. “Come back to me. You know you don’t have to—”

“No, I—um—” Quentin had already pulled his boxers on, was busy gathering up the rest of his clothes. “I really need to go.”

“Suit yourself,” Eliot said in his most practiced, casual tone, falling back down onto his pillow. “You know where I’ll be if you change your mind.”

Quentin didn’t bother even pulling on his jeans, making for the door with his bundle of clothes gathered in his arms. “Thank you,” he muttered over his shoulder, hand on the doorknob, pulling it open. “Goodnight, Eliot.”

Eliot sighed. “Goodnight, Quentin,” he said, but Quentin was already gone.

—

Friday nights at the Physical Kids’ Cottage were, generally speaking, reserved for mindless debauchery and unbridled hedonism. Generally speaking. Though nothing about Eliot’s life in the aftermath of that first drunken hookup with Quentin their first night back from winter break seemed to fit comfortably into the definition of _general_ anymore. Eliot’s mind was constantly drifting. An endless loop of _Quentin, Quentin, Quentin._ He could hardly even bring himself to light a cigarette, let alone be the life of the party. Let alone think about hooking up with anyone else.

Margo curled up beside him on their perch in the corner, music and lights and bodies throbbing around them like waves in a pool. “Hey,” she said, nudging him in the shoulder. “Earth to Eliot. You in there?”

“Hm?” Eliot turned his face to her. He was balancing a glass of bourbon on his knee. All the ice had melted. Eliot hadn’t even taken a sip. “Bambi. Hey. I thought you were busy whispering Alice Quinn out of her panties.”

Margo’s mouth quirked up. “I’m working on it,” she said. “But you—” She studied him with a tip of her head. He felt like an artifact, a specimen in a jar. “What’s up with you?”

Eliot narrowed his eyes in mock offense, taking a sip of his watered down drink. “I’ll have you know I’m spectacular as always,” he said. “Am I not permitted to sit back and survey my kingdom every now and then?”

“Every now and then? Sure.” Margo raised one perfectly sculpted brow. “But when you aren’t shacking up with the twink of the week for the tenth Friday night in a row, that’s when mama starts to worry someone put a hex on your dick.”

Eliot was halfway to quipping something clever in response when he spotted Quentin across the room. Their eyes met. Eliot’s mouth twitched, his heart began to race. At his side, he could feel Margo reading his expression like spell work, even as he tried to rein it in.

“Christ,” she said. “Tell me you’re not still pining after Coldwater.”

He shot back the watery contents of his glass and set it aside. “Please,” he said. “Daddy doesn’t pine.”

His heart jumped into his throat. Quentin was getting closer now, making a beeline for Eliot through the throng. Margo said something that Eliot didn’t register, aware of nothing but the driving rhythm of his blood in his ears.

“Hey, uh—” Quentin reached out at once, taking Eliot by the wrist and giving it a tug. “Can I borrow Eliot for a second?”

Eliot stumbled up to his feet without protest and let Quentin drag him away. Margo shouted something at their backs that was immediately swallowed up by the pulsing music. Bodies blurred past like comets in the dark. They moved through the crowd without speaking. Eliot was pretty sure he wasn’t even thinking. His brain had gone dark in his skull. It was all animal impulse driving him forward, letting Quentin steer him out of the common room and down the hall. Away from the light and into shadow. Quentin pushed him into the coat closet and shut the door.

Eliot had just enough time to do a quick tut and turn on the light before Quentin was slamming him back against the door. “Hey—”

“Hey.”

Quentin went up on his toes, stealing Eliot’s mouth in a hungry kiss. Eliot shoved his hands into the back pockets of Quentin’s jeans, groping at his ass, drawing him nearer. He felt like he was coming apart from the inside out. Quentin was already hard. Eliot could feel it pressing against him through the layers of their clothes.

“Q—fuck—” Eliot knocked his head back against the door when Quentin pulled away. “What are you—”

Quentin had already fallen to his knees, was busy tugging at the buckle of Eliot’s belt. “It’s really stupid I’ve never sucked your dick,” he said, tipping his gaze upward. “So I’m gonna do that now.”

Eliot could feel his whole world tipping sideways. Quentin started mouthing at the front of Eliot’s slacks the moment he worked the belt buckle loose. Eliot’s knees felt like they were made of sand. Quentin popped the fly on Eliot’s slacks, slipped his fingers into the waistband and gave them a tug. Taking them down to Eliot’s ankles along with his underwear in one quick swoop. By some miracle, Eliot got his fingers working long enough to do a tut and work open the buttons on his shirt.

Eliot ran a hand along the top of Quentin’s head to steady himself. He was so hard already it should have been embarrassing. There was something about Quentin he couldn’t quite place that made Eliot feel like a goddamn virgin. Like he’d never done any of this before. Like suddenly he didn’t know how to act. He’d had so many mouths on his dick over the years, this should have been nothing more than the standard Friday night fare. Yet here he was, trembling against the door of the coat closet, certain he was going to pass out.

“Q…” Eliot heard his own voice saying from somewhere far away. Quentin’s hair looping around his fingers. “Don’t you think we should…”

The words were snatched from Eliot’s mouth the moment Quentin wrapped a hand around his dick. His tongue darting out and lapping the pre-come from his drooling slit. Eliot’s thighs began to tremble. Quentin wrapped his lips around the head, mouthing at the glans like a goddamn virtuoso at work. If Eliot had to die, he figured it might as well be in a coat closet with Quentin Coldwater’s mouth on his dick. That suited him just fine.

Quentin took him deep all at once. Deep enough to choke. He pulled back, spit glistening on his pretty pink lips as he gazed up into Eliot’s eyes. “You’re fucking huge,” he said, almost like he was surprised. Like he hadn’t been riding that very same dick at increasingly regular intervals for months. “I wanna deepthroat you, but I don’t know if I can—”

“There’s a spell,” Eliot said, one hand braced against the door, the other with a death grip on Quentin’s hair. “Do you want me to—”

“Yes.” Quentin nodded in that eager little way of his. “Do it.”

A couple muttered lines of Greek. Two of Eliot’s fingers tracing a pattern along the curve of Quentin’s throat. Quentin’s eyes went wide the moment the spell took hold. Eliot felt it shimmer on the air. Quentin pushed Eliot’s hands away and dove back in, a little snarl playing at his lips.

Eliot was gone. Entirely lost, even to himself. Nothing had ever felt so good. He had no hope of lasting, not with all the magic in the world. The sweet music of Quentin’s throat working him deeper. Eager and greedy and slick. He muffled the peal of his own sob against the back of his hand, biting into the flesh hard enough to leave a mark. His dick pulsing in Quentin’s throat until he was entirely spent. Quentin’s tongue pressing flat against his balls. Eliot was dripping with spit. Even as Eliot was going soft, Quentin held himself down, like he couldn’t possibly get enough. Lights danced in Eliot’s vision, the afterimage of dying stars.

At last, Quentin pulled off with a slick gasp, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. It was the single hottest thing Eliot had ever witnessed in his life, including porn and Patrick Swayze’s hips. For a moment, neither of them moved. Quentin’s chest was heaving, mouth hanging open, his cheeks dappled with a soft pink blush. Eliot wanted to take him apart.

And then Quentin was pulling himself to his feet, and pulling away. Eliot somehow managed to get his pants back up without tumbling over, a dopey grin tugging at his mouth. His curls all frizzed out and falling into his eyes. Reality was somewhere very far away. He took Quentin by the front of his shirt and reeled him in.

“Hey,” Eliot nuzzled into Quentin’s hair, their bodies swaying in a tremulous dance. “Where do you think you’re going, hm?” He reached between the press of their bodies, groping at the front of Quentin’s jeans. “Come on. Let me take care of you.”

Quentin wriggled free of Eliot’s hold, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. “You don’t have to—” He ducked his head, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. “That’s, um—that’s all I wanted to do. I’ll be okay.”

Eliot’s heart sank down into his belly. Quentin pushed right past him, and Eliot didn’t fight. He opened the door without another word and slipped out into the hall. Eliot clicked the door shut with his shoulder after Quentin had gone, his head knocking against the doorframe in defeat. A swift and furious cold sweeping in and swallowing all the warmth in his bones.

—

Eliot wasn’t falling in love. It was nothing like that. It was only that—

Eliot wanted to give Quentin things. Like rim jobs but also like candlelit dinners. Sometimes, early in the morning when he was all alone, Eliot would allow himself the indulgence of a fantasy. Walking hand-in-hand with Quentin through the quad, or kissing him stupid in front of the rest of the First Years after class. Waking up beside him every morning and breathing in the scent of his hair. Finding out exactly how he liked his eggs.

Which—okay. Probably sounded a lot like falling in love. Only it definitely wasn’t that. Because Eliot wasn’t falling in love. It was only that—

He couldn’t seem to think about anything or anyone else. Eliot felt it like a pit in the center of his chest on the nights that Quentin didn’t come to him. Or when he thought about how Quentin _definitely_ wasn’t in love with him. Which was fine. It was perfect. It was exactly as it was supposed to be. Eliot didn’t want Quentin to fall in love. Quentin was his friend and sometimes they fucked. It was the ideal relationship, in fact.

A few weeks passed, and nothing changed. Eliot learned to make the most of their fleeting encounters in the dark. One Tuesday night in the middle of April, he decided to call it a night just after the sun went down, found Quentin already waiting in his room. Lying in the center of Eliot's bed with all his clothes off, belly-down with his back deeply arched. Presenting himself like a goddamn seven-course feast for Eliot’s senses. 

Quentin turned his face to his shoulder, looking back at Eliot where he stood frozen at the foot of the bed. “I want you to fuck me hard,” he said, his voice entirely ruined, his pretty face obscured beyond the thick curtain of his hair.

Eliot didn’t even register moving. Suddenly he was on the bed, straddling one of Quentin’s legs. Reaching forward, rubbing circles into the warm flesh of his ass. “Okay,” he heard himself saying. “On one condition.”

This was definitely something new. Eliot figured it was probably worth it to press his luck a little.

Quentin rocked his hips forward once. Like he couldn’t stand not being touched for even a second longer. “What’s the condition?”

“Let me eat your ass first.”

Quentin made a sound. Partway between a sigh and a whimper. “Okay, just—” The arch in his back dipped a little deeper. “Please. Just do it.”

Eliot swatted him on the hip. “Up on your knees.”

Quentin obeyed at once. For a long moment, Eliot could do nothing but drink in the sight of Quentin spreading himself open. Desire dripped from his body like a perfume, wafting on the air like magic. Eliot put his hand on Quentin’s lower back, swore he could feel him purring like an engine.

His hands on Quentin’s ass, Eliot spread him wider. His dick throbbing where it was pressed against the front of his slacks. Quentin had already prepped himself with the spell. Eliot’s head swam. He felt like he was shooting off sparks. Quentin was dripping, all pretty and pink and clean. Eliot drew circles with the tips of two fingers around his rim. The gasp that fell from Quentin’s mouth was like music.

That was all that it took. Eliot couldn’t wait a second longer. Diving in and making love to Quentin’s hole with the flat of his tongue, fucking in with the tip. Lavishing his rim with open-mouthed kisses. Reaching between Quentin’s legs every now and then and giving his dripping cock a few quick strokes.

He licked Quentin all the way down to his balls and back again. Tongue fucking Quentin like he was saying a prayer. Until Quentin was sobbing into Eliot’s sheets, making sounds like he was being torn apart.

“If you’re—” Quentin huffed over his shoulder. “If you’re trying to make me come like this, it’s probably going to work.”

Eliot pulled back, swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, soothed the flat of his palm down the middle of Quentin’s back. “I want you to come on my cock,” he said. “I just—I want you to see how good it can be like this, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart._ That was definitely new. Eliot’s pulse was hammering like a drum line in his neck.

Quentin writhed, but said nothing. Bunching his hands into fists over his head.

“When it’s nice and slow…” Eliot rubbed circles into Quentin’s ass with one hand, gripping his hip with the other. “When we take our time…”

“Please,” Quentin sobbed. “Please, El, I’m—I’m not gonna last long enough to—please—”

Eliot’s pulse thumped down between his legs. The sound of Quentin’s wrecked voice alone was nearly enough to get him all the way there. He couldn’t even be bothered to take off his tie or his vest. Eliot had fucked countless boys in his bed over his two years at Brakebills, but none of them had ever come close to making him feel this out of his mind. He undid his belt and worked open his pants and shoved them down just enough to get his dick out.

Everything slipped so easily. He was inside of Quentin’s body in the time it took him to draw a single ragged breath. Pushing into the tight, slick ring of Quentin’s entrance and burying himself to the hilt in one quick thrust. He gripped Quentin by the nape of his neck, fingers pressing in hard enough to bruise. He started to fuck, hips like pistons, babbling in a language only their bodies could understand. Quentin sobbed something that might have been Eliot’s name. Over and over again. If it hadn’t been for the silencing wards that wrapped around the room, Eliot was certain the entire campus would have heard their cries.

Everything went white, like the sun had burst into the room and gone supernova. Quentin’s whole body was twitching. Eliot could feel him coming from the inside. His fluttering hole squeezing around Eliot’s dick as he sputtered his release all over the bed. It was like pulling a trigger, tugging the orgasm out of Eliot’s gut. The way it turned his body to something molten, melting him from his hair down to his toes. Eliot fucked Quentin straight through the aftershocks, only falling from his body once he’d gone entirely soft, and Quentin was nothing more than a sated puddle on the bed.

Eliot fell straight over. He couldn’t think or move. Body and brain entirely busted. They lay side-by-side touching from shoulder-to-hip until Quentin started to stir. The mattress creaked, Quentin pulled himself to his feet. Eliot could feel his warm flesh growing colder by the second, cutting through the bliss of the afterglow. Panic, thick as oil, began to settle in.

“Hey,” Eliot slurred, rolling over onto his side, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “Stick around. I’ll be ready for round two in ten.”

Quentin had drying come streaked across his belly. His face cherry-red and his hair sticking up every which way. He smoothed a hand over the top of his head, swiping his boxers up from the floor. “El, I’m beat,” he said with a breathy laugh.

“Come rest,” Eliot said in his most unaffected tone. “I will gladly scramble your brain with my dick for breakfast.”

Quentin wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at the floor. “El…”

Eliot swallowed around the fist-sized lump in his throat. “I’m just saying—you don’t always have to rush right out the second you bust a nut, Q. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Quentin huffed a laugh, tugged his boxers on. “I’m not _embarrassed_ , Eliot.”

“Then what’s your deal?” 

A thick blanket of silence settled over the room. Eliot could feel his face flushing with heat, his whole body deflating at once. He hadn’t actually meant to—

Quentin frowned, snatched his jeans up from the floor. “My deal,” he said, finally raising his eyes to Eliot, “is that I’m going to bed. In my own room.”

He didn’t even bother gathering up the rest of his clothes. Quentin went to the door and tugged it open, all but running out into the hall. The door clicking shut felt like one last goodbye. Eliot felt it like a cudgel to the throat. He was all for casual sex, but this was starting to feel like something different. Like maybe he’d done something terrible. Like maybe he’d committed a crime.

Eliot rolled onto his back, set his eyes on the ceiling. “Goodnight,” he whispered to no one at all.

—

Eliot didn’t see Quentin for days after that, and Quentin stopped coming to him at night. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday night, Eliot lay in his bed all alone, too miserable to even sleep. He tried his best to keep his shit together during the day, but by Saturday afternoon he’d reached the end of his rope.

Eliot tried the knob on Quentin’s bedroom door just for the fuck of it. Much to his surprise, it was unlocked. Eliot opened it and stepped inside without knocking. Quentin was lounging on his bed with his nose buried in a textbook, his eyes shooting up the moment the door clicked shut.

“Eliot. Hey—”

Eliot pounced, crossing the distance in a few quick strides, crawling up onto the bed and pushing into Quentin’s personal space, knocking the book right out of his hands. “Hey,” he said, taking Quentin by the front of his shirt, ghosting their mouths together. “Study break?”

“What are you—” Quentin swallowed, turning his face away. “Eliot, what are you doing?”

Eliot could feel his whole body slumping in defeat. “I just thought—” He drew a breath, sitting back with an airy little laugh. “It’s Saturday. Thought you might be bored.”

Quentin visibly tensed. “Oh,” he said, ducking his head. “Um—I’m not. I’m—I should really get back to studying. But, um—thank you.”

Eliot felt pathetic. Like every pathetic thing he’d always feared himself to be. Selfish and weak. Vellum-thin, like he might up and shatter any second. He pulled away, stumbling to his feet. “Okay, but it’s just that—” He laughed, a deep rumble from the darkest cavern of his chest. “It’s starting to feel like you’re using me for my dick. Or, well—” Another laugh. “It did. Because apparently now you don’t even want me for that.”

It sounded just as maudlin out loud as it had sounded in Eliot’s head. He hated himself more than he’d ever hated anyone. He was supposed to be protecting his heart, sealing it up tight and swallowing the key. Instead, he was holding it bloody and stumbling in the palm of his hand. Thrusting it out into the light for all to see. Ruining one of the best—one of the only—

“Oh my god,” Quentin huffed, flopping onto his back and pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not being serious right now, El.”

Eliot could feel a blush creeping over his cheeks. “What the fuck am I supposed to think, Q? I mean—” He laughed again, the sound coming out all broken. “You come to me when you’re horny and you get yourself off and then run away the second it’s over.”

Quentin turned his face to Eliot, his brows knitted tightly together. “El—”

“We were basically best friends before winter break, and now it’s like we can’t even—”

“Eliot.”

“What I can’t work out is if you’re embarrassed about liking dick so much, or if—”

“Oh my god.”

It was like he’d been hexed to sound like the very worst part of every Lifetime movie. Eliot couldn’t stop. “Or if I somehow missed the memo that this is what male friendship was going to be like in my twenties.”

“Eliot!” Quentin bolted upright in bed. “Seriously, are you feeling okay?”

Fight or flight. Eliot’s legs were suddenly begging to run. “No, I—” Slowly, he began inching himself in the direction of the door. “I’m clearly… dehydrated.” Eliot bit the inside of his cheek. “And I am… going to go… and let you get back to—”

“Wait,” Quentin cut him off the moment Eliot’s hand made contact with the doorknob. “Just—” He sighed with his entire chest. “Fuck. Look, I’m sorry. I’m not… trying to make you feel… used.”

Eliot’s heart skipped under his ribs. He pulled away from the door. “Q, it’s—”

“No, you don’t—” Quentin groaned, running a hand over the top of his head. “El—goddammit. Look, I’m just trying to not get attached to the idea of... what I know this can never be, okay?”

Eliot squinted at him intensely. The floor pitched under his feet. “What this can… never be?”

“I mean—” Quentin shook his head. “El. Come on. I know your reputation.”

Eliot tipped his head to one side, a grin sweeping over his face. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. “My _reputation_?”

Quentin was blushing now. He had no right looking so pretty while Eliot was trying to have an emotional crisis. “Don’t make me say it,” he said.

Eliot took a single step forward. “Oh, Q, I think we’re well past the point of you not saying it.”

“You’re not—” Quentin huffed out a breath. “I mean—you’re not exactly the boyfriend type.”

Eliot’s belly twisted into a tight knot. “Q—”

“And even if you were,” Quentin immediately cut back in. “It’s not exactly like I’m under the impression someone like you is going to want to—”

“Quentin—”

“Is going to want to play Mr. Monogamy with someone like me.”

Eliot felt like someone had shoved his head underwater. “I literally—” He stumbled over to the bed and sat down. “Q, I literally came in here trying to fuck you five minutes ago.”

Quentin shrank in on himself a little, turning his body away. “We fuck a lot, Eliot,” he said. “That doesn’t mean you want to—you know... with me.”

Eliot was moving on autopilot. Reaching out, taking Quentin’s face in his hands. “You think I don’t want you?”

Quentin blinked. His eyes were damp. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Eliot laughed, a manic little sound. “Q, I’m—I’m sorry, it’s just—” He knitted his brows together, thumbing at Quentin’s cheeks. “I’ve been trying to get you to cuddle with me for weeks.”

Quentin brushed Eliot’s hands away. “I already told you. I don’t want to get—”

“To get attached, yeah I know.” Eliot took Quentin by the nape. “And I am telling you that you’re being ridiculous.”

Quentin averted his gaze. “You’re ridiculous.”

Eliot shook his head, laughing again. “Q, you—” His hand slid down to curve around Quentin’s shoulder. “You do know I haven’t slept with anyone else in three months, right?”

Slowly, Quentin raised his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Okay. So…” Eliot took a deep breath and pushed it out. “I don’t know what part of… all of this you’re not understanding. But I think you’re going to have to have dinner with me tonight on the grounds that you’re an idiot.”

Quentin pulled away in a huff, but Eliot could see it. The little smile threatening the corners of his mouth. “You’re an idiot.”

“Does seven work for you?” Eliot smirked, running a hand over the top of Quentin’s head. “If you have any dietary restrictions, I’ll need you to tell me now.”

Quentin offered Eliot a single fleeting glance. “Seven is fine,” he mumbled, tucking a tuft of hair back behind his ear.

Eliot moved his body closer, running his knuckles down Quentin’s cheek. His heart fluttering somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling. “Seven it is,” he said, and Quentin met his eyes. The air between them suddenly all blue-white fire. “So, um—not to abruptly change the subject in the middle of our dinner plans, but... would it be all right if I kissed you now?”

Quentin’s eyes were wide as the sun, his pretty pink mouth hanging open. Slowly, he nodded, and Eliot didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward and slotting their lips together. Licking into Quentin’s mouth and swallowing down a happy little moan. All at once, Quentin was on him. All that feral energy spilling out like rain. Climbing into Eliot’s lap and pushing him down onto the bed...

It was like drawing a breath for the very first time. Eliot kissed Quentin softly, deeply. Languid and unhurried. The rhythm of their bodies easy and smooth. And they kissed and kissed and kissed and—

—

Eliot banished everyone from the Cottage at five minutes to six. “Party at the Treehouse tonight, miscreants!” he shouted above the din in the common room. “We’re fumigating. Everyone out.”

After everyone else had gone, Margo eyed him, hands on hips. “Tell me what we’re really doing tonight.”

Eliot took her gently by the shoulders. “Bambi.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Everyone means you too.”

“I knew it.” She nudged him back with a hand to the chest. “Since when do you not tell me who you’re banging?”

“Maybe…” He smoothed a hand along the top of her head. “Maybe sometimes daddy doesn’t like to fuck and tell,” he said, waving her off with an airy little gesture. “And there’s not even anything to tell.”

“Bullshit.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die tragically young and hot.” He gave her a little swat on the hip. “Go on. I need like three hours tops. Maybe four…”

Margo glared, eyes like twin lasers boring holes into Eliot’s brain. “Fine,” she said, though she very much looked like she wanted to eat him alive. “But I’m not bringing you back any of Hoberman’s stash.”

Blissfully alone, Eliot headed to the kitchen. He’d decided on keeping it simple: pasta with red sauce and a decent bottle of Cab. Normally, he might put a little more effort into the menu for what was technically a first date, but tonight his mind was elsewhere. 

With a little magical assistance, Eliot had the table set and the food warming under a stasis charm with fifteen minutes to spare. Ignoring the way his palms were sweating, he lit the candles on the table with a flourish of his hand. Everything was perfect. Classic and easy in a way that wouldn’t make someone as perma-anxious as Quentin feel overwhelmed by the display; romantic enough to drive home the message that this was definitely A Date.

Another ten minutes passed before Quentin appeared suddenly in the doorway. “Do you wanna be my boyfriend or not?”

Eliot nearly jumped out of his shoes. He’d been gazing at the flickering candles, thinking of all the places on Quentin’s body he’d like to put his mouth. “Jesus, Q, you—” He put his hand over his heart and exhaled. “Hi.”

Quentin took a step into the room. “Just answer the question.”

Eliot started moving at once, crossing the distance between them in a few quick strides. Quentin tipped his gaze upward, and Eliot curled his hands around the sides of his neck. “So, um… hate to be the one to break it to you, Q, but—I’m pretty sure I already am.”

Quentin’s eyes went wide as a doe’s. He blinked. “Um—” He grabbed Eliot by the front of the shirt. Like he was desperate for something to hold onto. “Is there a stasis charm on that food?”

Eliot quirked a brow. “There is.”

“Good, ‘cause it, um—” Quentin’s eyes darted between Eliot and the table. “It looks really good but I just really wanna make out with you right now so—”

Eliot was suddenly crashing forward. He didn’t need to hear another word. His mouth on Quentin’s mouth. His hands on Quentin everywhere he could reach. They stumbled around pawing at each other until they landed on the sofa by the window. Eliot settling in between Quentin’s legs. Quentin’s legs looping around Eliot’s hips and drawing him closer. Eliot’s blood pumping, his thoughts dissolving like smoke.

Eliot broke the kiss, knocking their foreheads together. “Q. Jesus—” He laughed. “When did the definition of _making out_ turn into making your boyfriend come in his pants before dinner?”

A little sound of frustration bubbled out of Quentin’s throat. “Since I said so.”

Eliot pecked Quentin on the mouth, once, softly. “Have I ever told you how insanely hot it is when you’re being a brat?”

“Have I ever told you how insanely frustrating it is when you won’t just fuck me?”

Eliot extracted himself from Quentin’s hold, sitting back on his heels, Quentin’s legs draping over his lap. “Now, see, here’s the thing about that, Q…” He let his fingers flutter down Quentin’s torso over his sweater. “As your boyfriend, I’m obligated to inform you I do actually have a few very specific needs of my own.”

Quentin’s heart was stamping like hoofbeats underneath Eliot’s hand. “Okay,” he said. “Like what?”

Eliot hummed. “Well,” he said, “for starters.” He trailed two fingertips down the center of Quentin’s throat. “I’m going to need to put my mouth right here.”

Quentin trembled, the blush dappling his cheeks deepening by several shades. “Where—” He swallowed. “Where else?”

“Oh, sweetheart—” Eliot took Quentin by the wrist, lifting it to his mouth like the most decadent treat. Rucking up his sleeve just enough to get at the flesh underneath. Pressing an open-mouthed kiss right to the point of his pulse. “Everywhere.”

“Everywhere is—” A little laugh puffed out of Quentin’s chest. “Everywhere is good.”

Eliot nuzzled into Quentin’s palm. “I concur.”

To that, Quentin offered a sweet little whimper, fisting both his hands in the front of Eliot’s shirt. “Come back down here,” he said. “It’s really rude that you’re, like… not still kissing me right now.”

Eliot grinned with his entire face. “But I haven’t even shown you where I’d like to put my mouth most of all,” he said. “Aren’t you curious, Quentin?”

Slowly, Quentin’s hands fell away. His lust-blown eyes gazing up at Eliot like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “Yeah,” he breathed. “That sounds nice.”

Eliot’s fingers began to track down Quentin’s body. Quentin was hard, his erection tenting the front of his jeans. Eliot curved his palm around it, his eyes darting between that perfect point of contact and Quentin’s eyes. Quentin bucked up into the touch, drawing a breath sharply through his nose.

“That’s not—” Quentin laughed. It fell out of his mouth all broken. “That’s not terribly creative of you.”

“Maybe not,” Eliot said, pawing at Quentin’s dick. He could feel it throbbing heat through the denim. “But I’ve been thinking about it since the day we met.”

“Bullshit,” Quentin said, laughing again. His slack-jawed expression of pleasure made Eliot want to give up everything to keep it. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” Eliot said, dancing his fingers up to play along the buckle of Quentin’s belt. “It’s still true. I remember seeing you across the lawn and thinking… god. The things I’d do to that boy with my mouth. I bet I could make him beg so pretty.”

“ _El._ ” Quentin pressed his hands to his eyes, the blush on his cheeks growing dark as a bruise. “You can’t just—”

“Don’t hide from me, darling.” Eliot pulled Quentin’s hands away. “You’re far too pretty for all that.”

Quentin’s whole body was shaking. “I’m—I’m sorry, El—” He huffed a breath. “No one’s… ever said anything like that to me before.”

“Well, it’s the truth.” Eliot thumbed at Quentin’s burning cheek. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous, Quentin. I can’t believe you thought I didn’t want you.”

Eliot could see it, Quentin’s primal desire to hide away again. He averted his gaze, ducking his head. “I could name a thousand reasons why—”

Eliot hooked his fingers under Quentin’s chin, tipping his gaze upward. “I’m going to stop you right there,” he said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Why don’t you just let me show you, hm?”

Quentin tensed. “Show me what?”

A soft laugh rumbled out of Eliot’s chest. “How much I want you, of course.”

“Oh.” The syllable puffed out of the perfect circle of Quentin’s mouth. “What about dinner?”

“Thought we both agreed that dinner could wait.” Eliot pressed forward suddenly, kissing Quentin on the mouth. “And besides, daddy needs an appetizer.”

Quentin reached for Eliot as he pulled away, tugging at his shirt, producing a greedy little sound from his throat that Eliot felt between his legs like a kiss. Eliot smiled, falling down to his knees on the floor, started tugging Quentin’s shoes off without a single word. Quentin didn’t protest, let Eliot strip him bare piece-by-agonizing-piece. Socks, jeans, underwear, sweater. All cast aside and forgotten, revealing at last the masterpiece of Quentin’s body underneath.

Quentin lay quivering and naked, slumped into the corner of the sofa, his legs falling open like he was calling Eliot home. The pink on his cheeks spreading down to his chest, sweeping along his belly like a trail straight down to his blushing cock. Eliot took Quentin by the hips and tugged him forward, getting the angle just right. Suddenly, the idea of _taking it slow_ sounded like some far off, impossible dream.

“There he is.” Eliot teased his fingers along Quentin’s hips, his belly, pointedly avoiding the hard line of his dick. It was a physical ache, fighting back the primal urge to pounce. “What a pretty little thing you are…”

Eliot mouthed along the curve of Quentin’s inner thigh, breathing in the scent of him. Quentin’s hand tangled in his hair, tugging with firm, insistent fingers. A litany of pleas falling from his wanting mouth as Eliot nosed along the crease of his thigh, nuzzling at the shaft of his dick, mouthing at his balls. He couldn’t help himself. Eliot was ravenous. He figured, in the grand scheme of whatever their relationship was going to be from this point forward, there would be plenty of time for actual foreplay later. 

He took Quentin into his mouth. Eliot was rewarded at once with a breathy little gasp, both of Quentin’s hands going to Eliot’s hair. Those clever hips immediately started to move, rocking up into Eliot’s mouth. For a moment, Eliot went slack in Quentin’s grasp, letting him take what he needed. Letting him feed that ever-urgent drive of his to chase his orgasm like an epiphany.

One hand pressing into Quentin’s hip, Eliot stilled his movements. Pulling back with a slick pop, gazing up at Quentin with stars in his eyes. “That’s enough of that now,” he purred. “God, look at you. You’re so sensitive. Bet it’s not going to take any time at all to make this pretty cock blow its load.”

“Don’t tease me,” Quentin whimpered. “Don’t—don’t—”

“Oh…” Eliot grinned, his hand gliding up and down the slick length of Quentin’s shaft. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

Quentin keened, arched his back, tugging Eliot’s hair by the root. “You’re the worst,” he whined as Eliot mouthed along the sensitive nerves of his glans. “You’re the—the worst boyfriend…”

Eliot hummed. “Oh, baby. I’m only just getting started.” He mouthed along the shaft of Quentin’s dick, down and back up again. “Tell me, Q. Have you ever been edged before?”

Quentin whined. A full-throated, utterly delightful sound. “I’ll break up with you,” he said. “I’ll never let you touch me again.”

Eliot clucked his tongue playfully. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?”

“No,” Quentin huffed. He was pouting, Eliot noted. Quentin Coldwater was actually pouting while getting his dick sucked. “We can’t.”

“Tell you what…” Eliot blew a teasing breath over the head of Quentin’s dick just to watch him shiver. “Just this once…” He grinned. “But, baby boy, when I get you in my bed tonight…”

Quentin said nothing. There was nothing more to say. There was a high, sharp ringing in Eliot’s ears when he dove back in. Hunger like he’d never known spurring him forward. Eliot took Quentin to the hilt. Sloppy, wet, and perfect. Flat of his tongue against Quentin’s balls. Making him whimper and sob and squirm. Quentin’s fingers dragging over Eliot’s scalp, his legs draping along the expanse of Eliot’s shoulders.

It didn’t take long to get him there. It took practically no time at all. Suddenly, Quentin was pulsing against the press of Eliot’s tongue, a garbled mess of nonsense falling from his mouth. For a moment, Eliot thought he was going to come in his pants. Quentin’s pleasure so immediate and insistent Eliot felt it shimmering in his blood like a fever. Eliot swallowed every drop he had to give, until Quentin was entirely spent.

Quentin’s body went slack on the sofa, his softening dick falling from Eliot’s mouth. Eliot’s head throbbed with light. He sat back on his heels, ran a hand over his mouth. Chest heaving as he sucked down great lungfuls of air. He pressed his face to Quentin’s inner thigh, laughing, touching him gently.

Eliot got his body to work long enough to climb up onto the sofa, dizzy and sated and aroused. He slumped down into the corner opposite Quentin, gave him a limp little nudge on his thigh. “C’mere…”

Quentin grumbled, but immediately began dragging the deadweight of his body over to where Eliot was sprawled, tucking himself up under Eliot’s chin. Eliot folded Quentin in his arms, pressed a kiss into his hair. Heat spilled from Quentin’s body like a furnace.

“That was nice,” Quentin mumbled against Eliot’s chest. “Want me to get you off now?”

Eliot nosed into Quentin’s hair. “Plenty of time for that later,” he said. “Just rest.”

Quentin said something that Eliot couldn’t make out. Already, Eliot could feel him drifting away.

“So,” Eliot said, rubbing circles into Quentin’s back, “did I convince you yet?”

“Convince me of what?”

Eliot laughed softly. “That you’re the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever had.”

Quentin peeked up at Eliot with one hooded eye. “I’m still thinking about it,” he said. “Ask me after dinner.”

Eliot smiled into Quentin’s hair. “All right,” he said. “One more thing?”

“Hm?”

“Well...” Eliot sighed. “Now that we’re officially boyfriends, we should probably establish some ground rules.”

Both of Quentin’s eyes were open now. “Like?”

“Like whether or not this is going to remain our dirty little secret,” Eliot said, pecking Quentin on the forehead. “Or if I can finally make out with you in the quad for all to see.”

Quentin was quiet for a long moment, mischief turning behind his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said finally, resting his chin against Eliot’s chest. “Having a secret affair is, like... really hot.”

A silent laugh rolled through Eliot’s chest. “Yeah,” he said. “It really is.”

Quentin settled back in with a sigh. “I guess I don’t really care. If people know they know.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Eliot said, letting his eyes slide shut. “Margo is definitely onto us. I give it a week tops before she figures it out.”

A long moment of silence settled over the room. A thick blanket of contentment Eliot hoped would never lift. He was pretty sure he was happier than he’d ever been in his life.

Eliot was half in dreams when Quentin began to stir. He opened his eyes. Quentin was gazing up at him with the softest smile, beaming like the sun breaking through the clouds. 

“Hey.” Quentin pressed forward, kissing Eliot on the mouth. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

Eliot grinned, brushed the hair back from Quentin’s brow. “Yeah,” he said. “Blowing your load’ll do that.”

Quentin pressed his face into Eliot’s chest. “Shut up,” he said. “I’m serious, El.”

Eliot couldn’t stop smiling. “All right. Come on.” He nuzzled into Quentin’s hair. “Of course we can eat, sweetheart,” he said. “It is our first date after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by my urgent need to indulge in something light and easy to make myself feel better. For those of you waiting on chapter 8 of my current long fic, I promise it's coming. I love you all dearly, thank you so much for reading. 💖


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